A Better Battler

Against the voice of shame

we must raise a generation

that knows how

to battle better.

I know shame is needed

to let a body know when it has hurt another body

but this cultural shame

is nothing more than self-loathing

cloaked in rejection

and we must not let it’s voice enter unto our neutral space.

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The Rain and My Watering

I was in those terrible hurries today.

One moment

screaming at the credit card company man on the phone in the house.

Next moment

songing outside in the garden with the plants like an angel.

Propelled by an energy that was only partly mine

driven around by forces I don’t stop enough to examine.

Examine: To weigh.

Well weighing is a balancing act at it’s core.  Imbalance or balance that is the test of weighing.

Tear Boat

Ill teach you how to cry.

First, you gotta lay back and

relax.

Then

you just gotta remind yourself

that it is ok to cry.

Then

you just let the sadness wash over you a few times.

The first wash

it might feel scary and good

then the second wash you will really cry and feel sad

and you will know you are going to be OK.

Then by the third

wash

it either builds again

or lets off.

Either way if it last a few moments more

or not

when it is over

you will have let that portion of the sadness go

because you felt through it

and tears got you there.

Tears are a boat.

White Women

Can’t see

the violence

of sexual violence.

 

Perhaps because

white women

have always been

pretty.

Attractive.  Pleasing.

 

The other women

Black Women

Native American Women

have all been

ugly

in the eyes of a sick nation.

 

That is why

these other women

can see.

They know how ugly the culture can be when the culture thinks you’re ugly.

 

They are not worried about dropping down into life

and sullying their pert appeal

and becoming unattractive.

 

Thus

they can see

the violence

in sexual violence.

 

Ugliness is freedom.

Beauty is only beauty

if there is no constant demand for physical beauty to be in place

like a mask on a face

covering the eyes

the mouth

the breathing nose

the hearing ears

Men who hurt

Trauma

must produce

as one of its hallmarks

stockholm syndrome.

How else

would so many white women

refuse to see the evil

in men like Trump and Kavanaugh?

Wanting to protect

the type of men who have violated them all their lives

so they don’t have to feel the pain

of experiencing evil

produces a sort of collective

stockholm syndrome

where these hurt women

want to protect these men who hurt

at the expense of their own vitality.

Anything to avoid pain white women?

White women who protect men who hurt them, do you think you can get some of that bully power

for yourself so you don’t have to feel your pain of being the victim?

It is the hardest thing to move from being a victim to being your own best advocate.  It starts with experiencing the pain of what happened to you fully felt and breathed through.

Most

Black women

Latinx women

who have experienced the evil of men and this society

and know the pain clear-eyed

have no such protective illusions

except toward those

who need protection

and those

who deserve protection

from the evil sacrifice

of men who hurt

Heart of Joy

Are you alive?

My heart of joy?

Telling me a different story?

From the fear based one?

Are you small?

Are you so soft?

Are you filled with light?

And a birth-right belonging of happiness?

Are you my heart of joy?

Do you belong to the whole world?

Can I embody you by letting you lead my life?

Will I be alone if I choose this?

No?

I will have you if I choose this heart of joy?

 
Yes!

Stored. Lived.

Collections

are unfelt feelings.

When a body

cannot dig up

the many-colored snake

from beneath the fecund jungle soil

life

development

becomes frozen

in space/time.

Scooby-Doo could investigate the mystery

of the missing life

and the creation of

the pedophile.

In this condition

intimacy, happiness

become fetishized.

And pedophilia will always lurk in an unfelt life.

There is a crazed obsession with suppressing  feelings.

Connection, spontaneity

become felt as states unattainable.

States attained by children.

And so these states are sought to be stolen from children.

Brutally.

And no such state is attained by the fetishizer.  Impossible.

Only the child’s body becomes a meaningless sacrifice  The blood and human sacrifice

for such a culture.  For such a one.

I forgot I never knew

I am woman.

Not a man in human.  Not a son in person.

There isn’t even a word to refer to myself as a sentient being without that word being mired in patriarchy.

So I can’t escape.

So I can only say what I am in the hopes that I light a light for myself.

So that I can learn to live with again.

And love.

Cooperation.  Equality.